


Beneath The Veil

by Your_Worst_Nightmare



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Lot of Plot, Alternate Universe, Dark Sherlock, Jim and Sherlock Work Together, John has no idea, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Worst_Nightmare/pseuds/Your_Worst_Nightmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty's accusation about Sherlock being a fraud may not have been so far-fetched after all. In the shadows of Sherlock and John's life, Moriarty plans their demise. What John doesn't realise, is that Sherlock is a little more involved in the plan than he lets on...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be awesome to re-write the whole series of Sherlock, but where everything Moriarty says in Reichenbach is actually true and they were actually working together the whole time.

Sherlock paced the flat, both in frustration and in excitement, gazing upon the objects in front of him. At last he stopped and sat heavily, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. Before him lay a pair of trainers, white and clearly from the 80s. They belonged to Carl Powers, who had drowned when Sherlock was just a boy. That much he had figured out. The true question was who had sent them. It had been his first case; the start of his career as the world’s only consultant detective. But he had grown bored. Boring crime after boring crime; Sherlock had seen them all by now. His patience was beginning to wear thin as boredom crawled under his skin like spiders. Until this morning, when he had awoken to this intriguing puzzle. Someone was trying to catch his attention, and it was working marvelously. But the question of who it was, for now, remained unanswered. 

He resumed his morning routine; taking a break from the hour he had spent looking over the shoes, hoping that distance from them would clarify his mind. He made himself some tea and carried on with one of his experiments. Three hours went past until something started niggling at the back of his mind. Something was wrong with this picture. He got back up from his microscope and sat back down in front of the shoes. After a few minutes it clicked. He picked up the left and examined the pristine nametag inside. The shoes were well looked after yes, but label looked almost too new. Pulling out a kitchen knife and carefully unstitching it, he held it up and saw miniscule writing on the back. He raced to his microscope. Embroidered minutely on the label were the words:

**Well-done Mr. Holmes. The Pool. Midnight.**

His mind was racing. He was about to meet Carl Powers’ murderer. But who could it be? To know about his connection to the case meant they must have known him back then, meaning the likelihood was high that they were of similar age. But he had had no friends then, well, no real friends to speak of. He couldn’t bear the idea of waiting that long to find out. The excitement was too high. Finally, he had something to stimulate his deprived mind.

-

Eleven pm came around slowly but eventually. After pacing for over an hour he could take no more and ran downstairs to catch a cab to where it had all began. As he entered the pool where Powers had drowned, the lights flickered on, bouncing dancing lights off the pool’s surface, which was eerily still. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard a door creak around the other end of the pool. He pricked his head up in anticipation, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. Then through the silence, came a some-what familiar Irish drawl.

“Long time no see sexy.”


	2. Dangerous Company

Sherlock awoke with a start. He sat bolt upright in bed and wiped his brow as the man lying next to him shifted awake and squinted through the dark at him. Hearing Sherlock’s heavy breathing, he immediately sat up and poked him roughly. 

“Sup Sherlypants?”

Sherlock shot James Moriarty a mean glare, which lasted seconds before he chuckled at his attempt of looking angry with the world’s most dangerous man.

“I was dreaming about that night we met at the pool,” he replied quietly, his laugh fading.

“Then why are you scared?” Moriarty frowned.

“I’m not, it was a good dream. I’m breathing heavily because of…err… something else…” Sherlock paused, embarrassed. Jim raised his eyebrows in amusement, giving Sherlock his usual smirk.

“Oh really? I wonder what got you so het up dear?” he winked, running his hand slowly up Sherlock’s thigh and slipping it into his boxers. Sherlock’s breath hitched suddenly at Moriarty’s boldness. 

“Yes I can see, rather feel, what you were actually thinking about,” Jim continued, leaning in to nibble on Sherlock’s earlobe, moving his hand slowly up and down against Sherlock’s already throbbing cock. Sherlock hummed with desire; closing his eyes momentarily to bask in the sheer thrill of the situation he was in. That night they met at the pool had been 4 months ago, but it was still fresh in his mind. Behind his closed eyes he remembered coming face to face with Moriarty after almost 20 years apart. 

They had been at school together, though Jim had been a year above him and had been celebrated at school for his accomplished skills at math and psychology. Sherlock had always idolized him as a boy, not only for his intelligence, but also for his complete disregard of any rules set before him. He had done what he wanted when he wanted, and evidently he still did. The fact that Jim had obviously known a lot about Sherlock too made him quiver with elation. That night was the first time in his life he felt himself attracted to another person and it had been the same for Moriarty. From an outsider’s point of view, it would appear as if Sherlock was completely under the criminal’s thumb, and to an extent that was true. But Sherlock had his own motives for entering this ‘relationship’ they had. Their interaction with each other was for mutual satisfaction. Moriarty had the pleasure of creating crimes for an audience that not only appreciated his work, but that could get a kick out of solving it. For Sherlock, it was the first time in years he had not been bored. Moriarty constantly left him guessing, constantly in flux, and it was spectacular. But their obsession with each other wasn’t just psychological, it was also physical, as Sherlock was starting to experience more and more, especially right now.

Sherlock opened his eyes and found that through his daydreaming, Jim had climbed on top of him and was pushing him back into the mattress. One hand remained firmly in his boxers, still rubbing up and down Sherlock’s length, whilst the other had found Sherlock’s hands and were holding them above his head against the headboard. Sherlock let a low moan escape his lips at the dominance Moriarty had over him. The effect the criminal had on him made him weak at the knees and he knew in that moment that he would do anything for him. Sanity was a small, sinking boat and Moriarty was his life jacket. 

“Fuckk, Jim, please,” Sherlock groaned, his hips bucking off the bed into Jim’s hand which was now rubbing faster and harder. The man smiled briefly before attacking Sherlock’s mouth with a long, lustful kiss. He bit Sherlock’s lip hard, drawing more moans from the detective. 

“You’re going to have to beg a lot more than that my dear,” Jim whispered in his ear, his voice breathy from lust. ‘Not this time’ thought Sherlock as he suddenly whipped his hands free, grabbing Moriarty’s hips and twisting them so he was now on top. Moriarty’s hand came free from Sherlock’s boxers at the onslaught and Sherlock grabbed it and yanked it above his head with the other. Rummaging in the table by the bed, he found Jim’s handcuffs and cuffed him to the headboard. The criminal raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise; Sherlock had never been this brave before. Usually he was the one in charge, but he had to admit this sudden power Sherlock had over him was making him uncomfortably hard. 

“Well isn’t this a surprise Sherlock?” he exclaimed, enjoying himself tremendously. It was Sherlock’s turn to smirk now, as he started to run his hands down Jim’s body, achingly close to his cock but missing it by millimeters, and instead running his hands down his thighs. Reaching his knees, he started to bring his hands back up again, but missed once more and carried on up his stomach. He repeated this for a few minutes before Moriarty was huffing in frustration.

“Sherlockkkk,” he drawled, his eyes half closed in want. “Fuck, Sherlock, please, god.” Sherlock grinned at the effect he was having on the criminal and felt his cock twitch at the realization. Finally he gave mercy and started to run his hand up and down Moriarty’s cock, eliciting filthy moans from the man. He slipped his hands into Jim’s boxers and continued the torture, his pace quickening slightly. As he did, he bit down hard at Jim’s neck, sucking a bruise, and then repeated the action down his body until he got to his hips. Moriarty was bucking his hips continually now, desperate for the friction. Whilst he was sucking hard at his hip bone, Sherlock started to pull his boxers down, revealing Jim’s hard cock which was already dripping with pre-come. His eyes rolled into his head slightly as Sherlock started kissing down from his hip, and slowly, achingly down his length to the tip. He let out a big gasp of air as Sherlock licked back up, licking the pre-come off the tip and making his cock wet. Jim allowed the onslaught for a little while before he could take no more. It took all his strength not to buck into Sherlock’s mouth.

“Ahh Sherlock, fuck, suck my cock, Sherlock, please,” Moriarty groaned loudly, not caring if his bodyguard could hear them downstairs. Sherlock obliged, taking Jim deep into his mouth and swallowing around him. He gave a very loud moan and his back arched off the bed as Sherlock bobbed on his cock, licking and sucking as he went. Sherlock could feel Moriarty’s cock throb deliciously and he could tell the criminal was already close. He could feel his own neglected cock, rubbing slightly against the bed as he moved. He moved his free hand down to rub up and down his length. He moaned around Moriarty, causing vibrations, which made the criminal buck into his mouth harder. The faster his hand pumped, the faster he sucked, and it wasn’t long before they were both panting furiously, close to the edge. 

“I’m gonna come Sherlock, ahhh, yeah, keep going, fuck,” Moriarty slurred, thrusting himself frantically into Sherlock’s mouth. Seconds later he came, the detective swallowing around him making him shudder in pleasure. Sherlock quickly followed, moaning loudly as he came. They both collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily after their climax. 

“Damn that was good,” Moriarty muttered after a while, swiftly noticing he was still handcuffed to the headboard. “You going to release me any time soon?”

“Hmm…no don’t think so. I reckon I should keep you there for the rest of the day until Moran has to come find you. Wouldn’t that be a surprise for him?” Sherlock jested, getting up from the bed and walking over to the door.

“Sherlock you dick! Come back here now!” Jim called after him. Sherlock only lasted a moment before he came back in, laughing.

“You’re so easy to wind up James,” he chuckled, bending down to undo the handcuffs. There were slight welts on his wrists where he had pulled against the restraints. Sherlock looked momentarily concerned before Jim pulled him in for a deep kiss.

“Rough, just the way I like it,” he whispered into Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock smiled in response, pulling Moriarty off the bed. 

“So, tea first, disrupt humanity later?” Sherlock teased, leaving the criminal standing naked in the bedroom smirking after him. Moriarty shook his head in disbelief. There never was a dull moment now Sherlock Holmes was about.


	3. A Third In The Fray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets John Watson during one of Moriarty's cases, but his appearance leaves Sherlock stumped for once. Why does Jim need them together?

“So,” Sherlock mumbled into Moriarty’s ear as he moved around him to get to the kettle. “What have you got in store for me this week?”

“Oh Sherlock, you’re going to positively LOVE this one!” he chirped back, leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk, still shirtless. 

“Will I now? Any hints or pointers to start me off?”

“Ah ah ah, that would be cheating Sherly!” Moriarty said with a laugh, wagging his finger before placing it on Sherlock’s lips. “You’ll just have to start watching the news a bit more often my dear.”

Sherlock bit Jim’s finger playfully and got up from his chair. As he walked out the front door he shouted behind him, “Off to Bart’s to do some experiments! I would tell you what they are but that would be cheating!”

Moriarty chuckled into his mug, watching Sherlock and his perfect arse walk out the door. He sighed to himself in contentment. This arrangement was working out rather nicely.

-

Sherlock was sat at his microscope when the door opened and two people walked in. Ah, Mike Stanford, accompanied by a man who had obviously just retired from military service. This could only be about one thing. Sherlock had made a joke earlier about being the hardest person to find a flat mate for and now here the man stood with a potential. He rolled his eyes to himself but was immediately distracted by his phone vibrating. He looked at the message curiously.

Go along with it. Trust me. JM x

So, somehow Moriarty’s plan involved him getting a flat mate at his old apartment? Fine, so be it. Go long with it he shall. After bewildering the poor man introduced as John Watson with his usual observations, he left the room and rested against the wall outside. As he did so a curious thought occurred to him. How did Jim know that the two men had just walked into a room Jim supposedly knew nothing about? He waited for the men to leave before reentering and scanning the room. Within minutes he had found a hidden camera on the shelf opposite his desk. So this was how he was keeping up to date with all of Sherlock’s work! Deciding in the end that it didn’t affect him either way, he gave a wave to the camera before placing it back where he found it. On the other end of the feed, Moriarty sat there in front of his laptop, laughing at Sherlock. 

-

The next day Sherlock did as he was bid and met up with John at his old flat. The two of them had tea whilst Sherlock looked through the paper at the recent suicides. Could this be Moriarty? It wasn’t his usual style. Just as he started to wonder, a police car pulled up outside. In an instant he was up and out the door, but a thought stopped him at the threshold. Turning back he turned to look at John. There must be a reason Moriarty wanted them to find each other. Maybe this was it. He looked John up and down for a moment before the man spoke, returning his quizzical gaze.

“What?”

“You were an army doctor? Any good?”

“Very good.”

“Seen a lot of deaths then. Lot of trouble too I bet?”

“Yes. Enough for a lifetime.”

“Want to see some more?”

“Oh God yes.”

And with that they both flew out of the flat, Sherlock wondering what on earth he was doing with this seemingly random man. 

Once they had got to the body, it was instantly obvious to Sherlock how she had died. Textbook really. Surely this wasn’t Jim? But nothing else had come about yet, so for now, this case could easily preoccupy him. Throughout the day, his leads got stronger but one thing still remained a mystery. Why was Moriarty insisting upon John Watson’s company? Occasionally Sherlock would look up from his laptop to stare at John, only to quickly look away when the doctor would inevitably turn round. For once he was completely stumped but decided there were more pressing matters at hand. Especially when the police turned up to search his flat for the suitcase he had found earlier that day. He couldn’t describe how much he hated them going through his things, particularly when they meddled with his experiments. He was starting to get flustered when a thought suddenly struck him.

“Shut up everyone shut up! I need to think! Anderson face the other way!”

Anderson’s protest was halted by a look from Lestrade and did as he was told. Suddenly, everything clicked into place just as a figure appeared in the shadows of the hallway. Without a second glance to anyone, he left, following the man who had gone unnoticed by everyone except him. He smiled as he stepped into the serial killer’s taxi, knowing he was soon to find out whether this was Moriarty or not.


	4. Earning Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock solves Moriarty's crime, and both get a reward for their efforts...

Upstairs in the college, Sherlock sat opposite the taxi driver, drinking in how the man had killed all those people. It was amazing, inspired even. But though this man claimed to be a genius, deep down he knew this must have been all Jim’s doing. Only he could have thought of something as clever as this. Sherlock felt almost regretful at the fun he was having on these cases. Almost. But it had come down to the final part. Proving who was cleverer. Should he take the pill and risk death, just to prove his intelligence? Of course, his sociopathic nature told him yes but something held him back for a moment, making him hesitate. Just as he was about to go through with it a loud bang and a smash echoed through the silent room and the killer was on the floor, his shoulder bleeding from the bullet now lodged inside it. He chucked the pill at the man and ran to the window to see the shooter, but they had already gone. Stamping his foot he returned to the man on the floor and leant down.

“Your sponsor, who was he? Tell me his name?”

When the man shook his head in refusal Sherlock stood back up and stamped on the man’s injured shoulder. He let out a terrible shout of pain before screaming the word ‘Moriarty!” and dropping his head to the ground with a thud as death took him. Completely unfazed by the man’s very painful death, Sherlock smiled to himself triumphantly as he left the room. Another of Jim’s cases solved. Today was a good day. He pretended to look shell-shocked as he appeared outside in front of the police cars that had surrounded the place. He was hurried over to an ambulance where he had a blanket put round him. Stupid people. He obviously wasn’t in shock. Maybe he was a better actor than he thought. He spied John standing behind the police tape and instantly he realized whom the shooter had been. Obvious really if you thought about it. Shrugging off the blanket he made his way over to the man. There’s no way Moriarty could have predicted the doctor’s actions, no matter how clever he is, so saving his life hasn’t been Jim’s plan for him and Watson. But for now, Sherlock was happy to have him there. He started to appreciate the doctor’s presence a lot more now he had become useful. They walked home together and bought takeaway for dinner, Sherlock waiting for John to fall asleep before sneaking out of the flat and making his way over to Jim’s. 

-

“Foiled me once again my dear detective,” Moriarty drawled as he opened the door, letting Sherlock in. As soon as Moriarty had shut the door, Sherlock had him pinned against it. The criminal let out a huff but couldn’t hide the smirk on his face at Sherlock’s gleaming eyes.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he whispered, nipping at the detective’s earlobe suggestively.

“I’ve never felt this exhilarated before. This is bliss! I think this arrangement is going to work out just fine. In fact, I think I owe you a little thank you,” Sherlock returned, rubbing his nose against Jim’s before passionately kissing his smirking lips. He broke away and started kissing down Jim’s neck and chest, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

“God. You’re. So. Ingenious. Brilliant. Amazing…” Sherlock moaned each word in-between each kiss. Moriarty closed his eyes with a long groan, basking in Sherlock’s worship of him. It wasn’t long before he had reached Jim’s trousers and his shirt had been thrown to the floor. His hands spread through Sherlock’s hair as the detective pulled his zipper down with his teeth, repeating the action with his trousers and boxers. Moriarty’s eyes rolled into his head slightly as Sherlock licked slowly up his cock and flicked his tongue over the tip suggestively. Jim bit his lip to stop himself crying out with pleasure. Knowing Moriarty would curse him if he teased too long, Sherlock took his cock deep into his mouth and sucked hard. His grip tightened in Sherlock’s hair as the thrusts got steadily faster, taking him in all the way to the back of his throat. Jim gasped and moaned loudly, thrusting his hips in time with Sherlock’s mouth. He felt his balls tighten deliciously as Sherlock pulled off and licked up the pre-come from the tip of his cock. He shuddered as the detective repeated the action but it wasn’t long before he was panting for more friction.

“Please, Sherlock, fuck, ahh, god, more please!” he moaned loudly, bucking his hips desperately. Sherlock smiled victoriously as he resumed sucking Moriarty’s length, growing faster once more until the criminal was gasping breathlessly.

“Fuck that good, Sherlock you’re gonna make me…ahhhhh.” Moriarty came with a loud, filthy groan, spilling into Sherlock’s mouth and quivering as he swallowed around him. After a few moments Sherlock stood and Jim pulled him in for a long, deep kiss. 

“Mmmm, I think I’m starting to enjoy this,” Moriarty teased, his hands roaming over Sherlock’s body suggestively. Sherlock pulled away regretfully.

“Come on, bed, I need to get up early so I’m back to the flat before John wakes up and finds I’m gone.”

“Not so fast there my little detective, I think I owe you a prize for solving my puzzle,” Moriarty winked, grabbing Sherlock and pulling him towards the bedroom. Sherlock gave a smug smile as Moriarty pushed him down onto the bed. Moriarty wasn’t the only one who was starting to enjoy this.


End file.
